


Two Corpses We Were

by Silvials



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Hostage Situations, M/M, Memory Loss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 02:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10479978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvials/pseuds/Silvials
Summary: "The man on the bridge, I knew him.""Of course you do, you met him earlier this week on another assignment. He's nothing more than a target.""He's not a target. He was my friend."A different take on the "but I knew him" scene where Pierce doesn't have Bucky wiped but instead keeps him hostage to use him as leverage against Steve.





	

His thoughts were still echoing with a name, a name that his instincts immediately claimed was his own. The Asset blinked and blinked and tried to will away the face that haunted the periphery of his vision but only managed to incite an unbidden memory.

“Bucky.” The man on the bridge was calling him again, this time his expression was twisted with anguish and his voice was a blood-curdling scream. He had an arm outstretched towards him, grasping thin air while the other held on to the flank of what appeared to be a train.

The Asset reached for him in vain, Steve’s name trickling easily through the remnants of Hydra’s tattered programming. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and ease away the devastation in Steve’s eyes. Their fingers brushed by a hairsbreadth and then he was falling, plummeting into an endless white chasm with the sound of his own scream ringing his ears.

Suddenly the purlieu of the arctic fell away before he hit the ground, then Steve was before him again, more recognizable this time. He was a lot shorter and the muscle mass he had seen on him earlier almost seemed non-existent now. His hair was tousled and his white shirt was blotched with patches of mud, though the little punk was still grinning at him even though he had blood dribbling down his chin.

The asset was whisked away to another lifetime before he got a chance to speak to him.

This version of Steve was big again. He was curled up in a bedroll next to him, his cheek pressed against the makeshift pillow as he mumbled his name incoherently under his breath.

The Asset felt corners of his mouth lift as he watched him with an expression that could only be described as fond. Steve’s voice was so warm and so achingly familiar and hearing him say his name was enough to banish all the lingering doubts.

 _My name is Bucky;_ he told himself with more conviction now, repeating it in his head until it was engraved into his thoughts. He closed his eyes as he felt a sense of contentment begin to settle over him and gave up on trying to navigate through his chaotic memories.

The next moment he opened his eyes, everything fell apart.

Zola’s face eclipsed his vision now, outlined by watery light and spindly trees that loomed over him like monoliths, and just like that, the blissful illusion that his mind had built around him was shattered.

Bucky gasped as he was pulled out from his reverie and took a swing at whoever has a hold of his arm before he could properly process where he was. The thud that resonated through the room managed to clear away some of his disorientation and once he blinked away the black dots stippling his vision, he wasn’t even surprised to find himself surrounded by gunmen.

A cacophony of voices erupted somewhere beyond the vault but it was all drowned out by the sound of his ragged breaths. Before Bucky had a chance to decipher what the voices outside were saying, Alexander Pierce suddenly stepped into his line of sight.

“Mission report,” Pierce demanded but Bucky only feigned a blank façade and stared back at him in response.

Pierce tried the same command again and on the second time he was met with silence, he reached out and back-handed Bucky with enough force to knock him sideways.

“The man on the bridge, I knew him,” Bucky said, jutting his chin out as he met Pierce’s glare, daring him to deny it.

Pierce’s expression faltered and Bucky couldn’t help but feel a small surge of triumph when he saw conflict pass over the man’s eyes.

He could tell that Pierce was struggling for words; however, the hesitation was gone as soon as it came.

“Of course you do.” Alexander Pierce drew himself into full height and placed his hands behind his back as if to emphasize his superiority. “That man seems familiar to you because you met him earlier this week on another assignment.  He’s nothing more than a target that needs to be eliminated.”

“But I knew him,” Bucky insisted, his tone almost accosting now. He gauged Pierce’s reaction carefully, trying to see if he had hit a nerve.

Pierce only pursed his lips and collapsed onto the stool in front of him as if he was preparing to deal with a strenuous task.  “Your work has been a gift to mankind,” he began then broke off into a tirade about society being at a tipping point between order and chaos. Bucky’s thoughts muted the rest of the words into a dull hum and he barely managed to resist the urge to lash out at Pierce.

Pierce eventually wrapped up his little speech and was staring Bucky down like he expected him to comply.

“He’s not just a target, he was my friend.” Bucky’s mouth curled into a sardonic smile as he relished in the ripple of discomfort that went about the room.

Pierce’s face hardened and he looked at Bucky like he couldn’t decide whether to beat him into submission or just let him be. “I didn’t want to do this, but you are becoming too stubborn to manage, “ he muttered in a tone that was bordering exasperation, as if he was genuinely concerned for his well-being, then he turned to one of the nearby doctors. “Prep him.”

“He’s been out of cryo freeze too long.”

“Then wipe him and start over.” Pierce said dismissively over his shoulder as he began to take his leave.

Bucky blanched upon hearing those words. His thoughts went back to the man on the bridge— the man called Steve, conjured up his face in his mind, and suddenly his heart was seized with a sense of desperation. _He can’t let them take Steve away from him again._

There were hands on him again, pushing him back against the chair and pressing his wrists against the slack metal restraints.  Bucky snarled at them, took the man on his left by the throat before he could draw his weapon and flung him into the unsuspecting Handler who was securing his restraints. The force sent them both flying across the room and the doctors could only scramble out of the way as the Winter Soldier darted onto his feet and began advancing towards Pierce.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Bucky pulled up short when he felt the muzzle of a gun press against his forehead.

“Take a step back,” Brock Rumlow ordered and forcefully nudged him back with the gun against his head when Bucky didn’t do as he was told. Warily, Bucky’s eyes roamed the vault in search for an escape route and mentally cursed himself for acting so impulsively when he found that there were none. He was surrounded by several members of the Strike team, all with their weapons raised and Alexander Pierce was blocking the nearest exit with a derisive look of amusement.

“I refuse to be you mindless attack dog any longer Pierce,” Bucky gritted out in a final attempt to provoke a reaction

Pierce back-handed him again and gripped Bucky’s chin to force him to meet his gaze. “You don’t have a choice in that.” His fingers tightened around his jaw until Bucky could feel his own teeth digging into the insides of his cheeks. “Know your place, soldier.”

Bucky squirmed away from his hold. “I know my place,” he bit out, punctuating each word with as much venom as he could. “My place isn’t _here_.”

Pierce let go of his face and made a gesture to the Strike team fanned out around them. Two of the men stepped forward, twisted Bucky’s arms behind his back and shoved him back into the chair.

“You need to be wiped,” Pierce said in a condescendingly gentle tone as he crouched down to his eye level. “It would certainly help you concentrate on your…task.”

“You just want to turn me into a blank slate again,” Bucky said, unable to hide the tinge of desperation that made his voice waver.

“I’m afraid you wouldn’t be of any use to us otherwise.”

“Kill me then,” Bucky growled and deliberately pressed himself against Rumlow’s gun.

“Getting a little too feisty are we?”  Rumlow grinned at him as he unlatched the safety but Pierce caught his wrist before he could fire.

“Not yet,” Pierce chided, somewhat wryly. He almost looked like Zola with the way he was smiling “I might be able to find one last use for him.”

Bucky closed his eyes and tried to steel himself even as he felt the prick of a needle against the side of his neck. Before he gave into the darkness however, he repeated Steve’s name like an antiphon and hoped that he wouldn’t wake up to find himself in another century.

* * *

 

The next moment Bucky awoke, his mind seemed to have opened a floodgate between memories and reality.  His thoughts were echoing with muted voices and screams and the clamor in his head only built up into to a crescendo whenever he tried to recall the events that had transpired before he ended wherever he was right now. He willed his eyes to open, attempting to get in touch with whatever reality that was happening around him, but his eyelids felt too leaden like they were weighed down by lead.

He was a prisoner of his own mind now and perhaps he was meant to be from the start because ghosts aren’t supposed to be in touch with reality.

But then Steve’s voice pierced through the haze, resonating above the echoes and screams and sounding too real to belong to a memory. Bucky was suddenly reminded of who he was, what he lost and what he had been fighting for just before he succumbed to darkness.

He cracked an eye open and flinched away from the sudden assault of light. The edges of his vision were still distorted with shadows, although there was enough clarity in his mind for him to make out the blur of red and blue before him.

 _“Steve, it’s me,” he_ wanted to say but before he could get a word out, another voice spoke up first.

“Better think twice before you do anything else, buddy.”

_Rumlow_

The very thought made Bucky’s blood run cold, and that was enough to drag him out of his drug induced trance. In his semi-conscious state, he finally registered the dull ache in his knees that was caused by kneeling on the steel surface beneath him and the stinging pain in his scalp where Rumlow was holding him up by his hair.

Instinctively, he tried to scramble away, only to realize that his hands were bound together with the same kind of shackles that his handlers use to restrain him to the chair. He risked a glance over the metal banisters and found nothing but endless depths of blue beneath a row of glass paneling. Bucky tore his gaze away immediately; his body tensing as he prepared for a blow, but thankfully Rumlow didn’t seem to have noticed he was stirring yet.

The slight movement was enough to catch Steve’s attention though. His eyes briefly darted towards Bucky’s general direction before leveling Rumlow with a glare. “A lot of people are gonna die Rumlow, I can’t let that happen.”

“Oh, so you wouldn’t mind if he dies first?”

The scenario was all too familiar for Bucky. There was the click of a safety and then he felt the muzzle of a gun pressed against his head.

“No, don’t--” Steve gasped, moving forward as if he wanted to throw himself in the line of fire.

“Thought so.” Bucky could practically feel the sadistic joy oozing from Rumlow’s response as he lowered his gun. “Now I suggest you drop the targeting blade or I’ll blow his brains out right here.”

Steve looked about ready to surrender without another thought. Bucky cracked his eyes open a little more and tried to convey all the words he couldn’t say through his gaze.

“What else are you waiting for Cap? I hold your friend’s life in my hands,” Rumlow jeered, and as if for emphasis, his grip tightened on Bucky’s hair and yanked his head up.

The force of it was enough to bring tears into his eyes but Bucky ignored the pain and took the motion as an advantage to give Steve a subtle shake of his head.  _Forget about me and do what you have to,_ he wanted to scream because he knew Steve was a stubborn idiot.

“Well that’s a shame,” Rumlow tsked when Steve remained unmoving and aimed the gun at Bucky’s head again. “He’s been a master assassin for five decades and this is how he goes.”

Seeing the panic in Steve’s eyes imbued his senses with an impulsive surge of adrenaline. Abruptly, Bucky levered himself onto his feet and head butted Rumlow, fully intending to push him over the metal walkway but in his weakened state, his balance wavered, and he only managed to knock him sideways.

The attack takes Rumlow by surprise however, and his gun skidded out of reach. Steve was barreling towards them now, but then Rumlow was pulling a second gun from his belt. He rammed Bucky against the railing and shot at Steve before he could get his shield up.

For a moment, Bucky could only see red. He snarled at Rumlow and twisted in his restraints until he was certain that he heard a sickening crack of a bone. Numb to the pain, he attempted to arrange his arms it a position that would allow his metal hand to pry at the lock but Rumlow threw a punch at his stomach before he could even get a proper grip.

The residues of adrenaline weren’t enough to keep the blow from knocking the wind out of him. Bucky crumpled to the ground and Rumlow took the chance to hurdle over him and grapple for the discarded gun on the other side of the platform.

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice filtered through the panic. Bucky’s gaze snapped back to him and visibly sagged with relief when he found a small tranq dart sticking out the side of his side instead of a bullet wound.

“Get away from him!” Steve was screaming and Bucky narrowly dodged the bullet that came whistling above his head, throwing himself over the ramp in the process. With his hands still bound, he had no way of breaking the fall. He landed painfully onto his back. The impact miraculously didn’t snap his spine, although it left him winded and unable to even out his breathing. He could only watch as Steve made a mad scramble towards the Hellicarrier’s mainframe, trying to fight off Rumlow while his body was beginning to surrender to the sedative.

Steve was mostly just trying to block off Rumlow’s punches now but then his step faltered and allowed an opening for one of Rumlow’s punches to land. The blow sent Steve reeling and Rumlow wasted no time in firing a quick succession of bullets.

Steve managed to deflect most of them with his shield, but Bucky felt his heart plummet when he saw sanguine patch blooming over his abdomen. The cry that Bucky let out sounded animalistic even in his own ears. It startled Rumlow; caught him off guard and before he knew what was happening, Steve’s shield struck him in the head and flung him straight over the railing.

Rumlow landed a few feet away from him, the wheeze in his breath suggesting he had at least broken two sets of ribs. His entire body was convulsing and yet he still held the gun in his hands and was fumbling for the trigger.

This time Bucky finally succeeded in wrenching his metal hand out of the restraints, the sudden twist sending a jolt of pain up into his flesh shoulder.  He gritted his teeth and dragged himself upright, ignoring the creak bones and the protests of his muscles. His vision swam as the pain began fog his senses but he used to vertigo to his advantage and crashed into Rumlow just as he was about to pull himself into a crouch.

Bucky pinned him there by the neck, drew his metal arm back and pummeled him; releasing the turmoil of pent up frustration, anger and confusion into each punch until he could barely recognize the bloodied pulp before him.  He was panting by the time he stumbled away from Rumlow’s limp form, feeling nauseated by the feelings of revulsion and satisfaction alike.

“Fire now,” he heard Steve say from somewhere above him. His voice was hoarse and his breaths were ragged but he was blessedly _alive_ and still lucid enough to meet Bucky’s eyes amidst the chaos.

“No, I can’t leave him,” Steve practically yelled into his earpiece, then his lips quirked into a wistful smile. “Til’ the end of the line, remember that Buck?”

He barely spoke above a whisper but even against the pulsing hum of the Hellicarrier’s engines, Bucky found that he was still able to make out the words.

Then the world started to fall apart around them.

Bucky didn’t even hesitate to dive after Steve when he slipped through the cracks.

* * *

 

That was how Black Widow found them at the bank of the Potomac, with Steve barely conscious and still retching river water and Bucky curled protectively over him, pressing a wad of cloth against the wound on Steve’s stomach.

He wasn’t able to pick up the sound of her footsteps stalking through the clearing, which is why he nearly flung a knife at her when she appeared at their side and blurted Steve’s name. The only thing that kept Bucky from pouncing was the arm slung loosely around his waist.

“S’fine Bucky, she’s a friend,” Steve slurred, still trying to move his hand over his back comfortingly despite being barely conscious.

She stood over them for a moment, the sternness in her expression briefly giving way to a hint of surprise, and then she pressed a finger against her ear and spoke frantically into her earpiece.

Bucky felt like he should know her. A distant memory tugged at his sub consciousness whenever he looked at her, although it was hard to place a name to her face when his mind was trying to pull him into oblivion.

“Hydra’s gone now.”

Bucky didn’t realize she was addressing him until she crouched down to meet his gaze. She kept her hands visible at her sides and spoke in a tone that was normally used to comfort a skittish animal. “No one else knows you’re here, James. If you want to leave, I’m not gonna stop you.”

Bucky considered the idea momentarily and shook his head. “Not without him,” he said, then promptly passed out. The last thing he was aware of was Steve’s arm tightening around his waist.

* * *

 

_“James…”_

Bucky flinched at the name and screwed his eyes shut tighter to keep the slivers of light from penetrating the blissful darkness.

James must be his new identity. His handlers would do this sometimes; tell him names once they have pulled him out of cryogenic stasis. The name could belong to him for a handful of weeks, or the name could belong to his next target. It didn’t really matter. They did it to make sure he was lucid; to remind him that he was Hydra’s asset and that he had a new list of targets to eliminate.

This didn’t quite feel like that now. The voice that said the name sounded achingly familiar. It sparked a distant memory at the back of his mind, although he was having trouble processing all the faces flitting back and forth in the periphery of his vision.

He groaned.

“It’s okay, open your eyes.”

Bucky was just starting to process the warmth of the room and the yielding surface beneath him. He cracked his eyes open reluctantly and found a blur of red and black sitting a few feet away from him.

“Where am I?” He slurred as he blinked Natasha Romanov into focus.

Natasha put away whatever file she was reading before and leaned towards him slightly. “You’re in the medical wing of the safe house owned by SHEILD.”

“Hydra _is_ SHIELD.”

She eyed him as if his statement was asinine. “Not all sectors were infiltrated by Hydra. This is what’s left of SHIELD, you’re safe here.”

“And Steve?”

“He’s fine. He’s in bad shape but he’s fine.”

Bucky began to prop himself up from the bed, not wanting to feel vulnerable in front of Black Widow. He managed to force himself to sit upright even though every fiber of his body protested at the motion.  “Can I…” he wasn’t even sure of what he was asking or whether he even had the right to ask for it but thankfully Natasha cut he started fumbling for words.

“You can see him soon, I bet he’d want to see you too but right now the doctors think it would be best for you to remain in solitary confinement for a while.”

“Until they decide to put me down?”

“If they wanted to put you down, they would have done it already.” Natasha leaned back against her chair, almost exasperated. Her face didn’t give way to any emotion but her tone was plaintive. “Hydra did a number on you and SHIELD is just trying to find the best way to help.”

“Why?”

“Because you saved Steve, that means you’re not completely a lost cause.” Natasha’s brows were furrowed as she spoke, almost as if she was voicing the reason to convince herself to trust him.

Silence descended between them afterwards.

Bucky laid his head against the headboard and tried to make it seem like he was dozing off.

It was embarrassingly easy for Natasha to catch him scanning the room for the nearest exit.

“Do you want to get better? Do you want to see Steve again?”

Bucky didn’t even need to think of his answer. “Yes.”

“Then you better stay.” Natasha scooted her chair back and moved across the room. She only turned back to him once she was standing by the door. “Someone one will be here to evaluate you in a few hours. After that, they’ll probably want you to undergo extensive therapy.” Her expression softened a little as she met his eyes. “Just hold on okay, James?”

She was already typing the code on the door’s biometric keypad when Bucky called out to her again.

“Wait…I feel like…I feel like I should know you.”

“Yes, you knew me once.”

“Was it like the way I know Steve?”

“No, it was more like how _I_ know Steve. We worked together and we helped each other. Hopefully you’ll be able to remember that soon.” Natasha offered him once last smile before she slipped out the door.

Bucky stared at the biometric keypad and thought they probably would never let him see Steve again.

* * *

 

A week later, while he was suffering from withdrawal and the memories of blood and death were flooding his dreams, Natasha came to inform him that Steve had been discharged from the hospital and was coming to visit.

Bucky had flat out refused to even see him; shaking his head almost hysterically at Natasha as he curled into himself more to avoid looking at her inquisitive stare.

“Not yet please,” he said, the request almost lost in his shaky exhale.

They were both in the bathroom of SHIELD’s medical suite. Bucky was hunched over the sink and vomiting the remnants of the drugs in his system while Natasha was standing beside him with an unimpressed expression.

No one but Natasha and his therapist have seen him in such a deteriorated state but Bucky didn’t think they both were doing him any good at all.

Having Natasha around only brought back the memories from the Red Room and talking to the therapist only made his nightmares of killing Steve on the highway more vivid.

“And why’s that?” she asked, deliberately leaning against him to get into his line of sight.

“I…don’t want to see him yet.”

That wasn’t a valid reason. It sounded petulant even in his own ears but he hasn’t exactly been very good at voicing his thoughts for the past few days.

Natasha raised a brow at him and she crossed her arms. “Well that’s a lot coming from a guy who snapped at a SHIELD agent who came through the door two days ago just because he wasn’t Steve.”

“I remember…I remember everything,” Bucky said, then raised his head to look at the mirror. He could barely even recognize the version of himself that stared back. “I remember the people I’ve met and the people I’ve killed but I don’t really remember myself.”

“I’m sure Steve wouldn’t mind.”

“No, that’s not the point.” He tore his eyes away from the mirror to meet Natasha’s gaze. “The memories…they keep blurring together. I’m just worried that if I see Steve, something will trigger the programming and I might just end up hurting him.”

“Steve strikes me as a guy who’d laugh in the face of danger.”

“I can’t risk it, not when I was so close to killing him on the bridge.”

Natasha gave him one last calculating stare before she finally relented.

“Okay,” she sighed and strode out of the room to gather her things. “I’ll just tell Steve to come by once you’re ready,” she said over her shoulder before she disappeared through the door and left him in the silence.

Steve didn’t get to see him for 3 months—no one did except for the therapist that SHEILD appointed to him.

Some days Bucky would imagine Steve standing at the other end of the door with the expression of a kicked puppy and he would feel compelled to let him in. _Just this once,_ Bucky would think but before he could even reach for the door, the voices from his memories would start to scream.

Steve didn’t deserve to deal with any of that.

Bucky continued to push himself further.

* * *

 

He was discharged after they deemed he was stable enough to be left on his own. An agent named Coulson offered to contact Steve for him but Bucky urged him not to and asked for Steve’s address instead.

Coulson dropped him off at Steve’s doorstep, and Bucky didn’t know how long he stood there trying to quell the desire of wanting to flee.

In the end he managed to bring himself to knock on the door.

Steve answered after a few heartbeats, peering out the door with his brows furrowed, but then his eyes landed on Bucky and his features immediately loosened into a hundred watt smile.

Bucky suddenly remembered how to be himself again and found that it was easy for him to return the smile. "Hiya Stevie." 

**Author's Note:**

> So I kind of wrote this on a whim. I was re-watching The Winter Soldier because I needed to for a new fic that I'm working on but then my brain started thinking "but what if this happened instead"...I have a long list of stories that I want to write, of course the most logical thing for me to do is to drop everything that I'm working on to write this one. Well, at least I got it done and managed to not cry and delete it while I was editing. I consider this to be a very big achievement.
> 
> Thanks for reading guys! Leave a kudos if you enjoyed this or better yet, leave a comment. Constructive criticism is very much welcomed. 
> 
> -Silvials


End file.
